


The World We Make

by books_are_my_patronus1397



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan, Robin Hood (Traditional)
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/books_are_my_patronus1397/pseuds/books_are_my_patronus1397
Summary: Marian's fight is far from over.  On the run from the Rangers, she continues to hunt the Sheriff of Nottingham across Araluen as he spreads poison and ruin across her homeland in his search for power.  Feeling betrayed by the Corps and overwhelmed by vengeance, her world has fallen apart.But she is not alone.Prince John is ready to wage war on Araluen and is a breath away from reigning over England for good. Unable to return to Locksley, Robin has to trust in his friends--and some old enemies--to protect his people and Prince William.  Now, he has the chance to make right the mistake he made in letting the Sheriff wreak havoc on another world.  And he is not alone.Finally reunited, Marian and Robin must work together again to keep the people they love safe and save their countries from destruction.  They will have to fight heroes, villains, and fate itself for the chance to bring about the kind of world they both believe is possible.
Relationships: Maid Marian/Robin Hood
Kudos: 2





	The World We Make

Over the years, Queen Eleanor had perfected the ability to hide her emotions. It was a skill she had needed master, first as a princess and then as Queen. Politics could be ruthless to your heart if you wore it on your sleeve. And yet, even after so many years, hiding her emotions today was a challenge she found difficult to meet.

  


The seven lords of the small council were assembled at a long wooden table in evenly spaced, high-backed chairs. Some of the lords were accompanied by their heirs, but not all. Those young men stood behind their fathers’ chairs, as what little extra space there was had been taken up by military officials and other royal pages. The double doors at the end of the hall were closed and guarded. Sunlight streamed through high windows, warming the cold stone. Empty torch holders dotted the walls, but there was little other decoration aside from the royal banner hanging above the doors and behind the king’s chair on the other end.

  


Prince John presided over the meeting, but he occupied the king’s chair as regent for his absent nephew. A thin gold circlet rested on his blonde hair, though Eleanor could see hints of red with the sunlight hit it. She also noticed a bit of grey in his beard and wondered when he had grown old enough to have grey hair. 

  


The chair he occupied was intricately carved and would have dwarfed John but for the intensity he projected across the room. No one would have dared suggest he commission a chair more appropriate for his slender build at the risk of implying he wasn’t able to fill the seat. 

  


Eleanor was seated just to the left and behind John, present but not in a position to contribute to the meeting. Everyone present, including her and her son, wore the appropriate black mourning attire in respect to their fallen king. The black made some of the lords look sallow, but the color looked good on John. But it also made him look hard and callous; she saw no hint of the boy he used to be.

  


“As I said. I want all our extra forces to make their way into Sherwood,” Prince John repeated with over-exaggerated patience. “Once there, my man Jeremiah will be giving you more specific instructions.”

  


“Your Highness, with all due respect,” one of the men spoke up. Eleanor watched as Sir Reginald, one of the most senior commanders in the English army, stood up at the opposite end of the table. “Our forces, not to mention our funds and supplies, are much depleted since returning from the Holy Land. If I could have more guidance—“

  


“You only need to know my orders,” Jonathan snapped. “Not the reasons for them.”

  


Reginald clasped his hands behind his back. He was an imposing man; big and burly with scars on his knuckles and a hard look in his eye. But Eleanor knew that along with the shrewd mind of a battlefield commander, he had a good heart and wanted the best for his men. “Forgive me, Your Highness. But Locksley is a small village, and Locksley manor is even smaller. We need one company, at most, to be deployed in order to subdue their forces and rescue Prince William. We have another regiment manning the outpost your ordered and conducting regular, increased patrols throughout the forest. Without additional information, I can only recommend that the remaining forces stay with their current assignments.”

  


Eleanor watched John carefully. She noted his curled fist and the careful stillness in his shoulders. That had been one of the differences between him and Richard, even has children. Richard had tended towards large, explosive emotions that calmed quickly. John’s emotions simmered under the surface, until they lashed out with sharp precision. 

  


“Sherwood has been a safe haven for outlaws and criminals for far too long,” John spoke coolly. “I intend to wipe them all out and restore the order my brother never could.”

  


Her heart jumped and stomach clenched at the statement, but her expression didn’t change. 

“The number of soldiers and supplies you have requested here is more appropriate for a war party.” Sir Reginald pushed. “Clearing out Sherwood does not require that level of force.”

  


“This _is_ war,” Jonathon said. His voice crackled like ice. “While my brother was off parading in the desert for years, anarchy festered right under his nose. Or have you forgotten that Sherwood birthed the outlaw Robin Hood; a man who has kidnapped my nephew, and terrorized good, law-abiding people while my brother was away? And he is not the only one. There are hundreds more like him, just waiting to attack now while we are weak and complacent.”

  


Reginald’s jaw clenched at the flippant dismissal of all the lives lost during the war in the Holy Land. And Eleanor noticed the shared glances and murmurers around the table at the mention of Robin of Locksley.

  


“But,” Jonathon steepled his fingers in front of him, contemplating. “Your point about the lack of funds is well taken. Edward, I think doubling the taxes will ease our good commander’s worries.”

  


The royal accountant ducked his head and scribbled on a piece of parchment while Reginald’s face paled. This time, Prince John’s announcement drew more than murmurs from the other men at the table—it drew outright protests.

  


“My Lord!” An elderly man blustered, “the last war nearly wiped my coffers clean.” Eleanor would have smirked if decorum allowed it. She knew the Earl of Mountbaton well. His clothing was always of the finest quality and richest colors. His coffers were fine, though his people’s might not be.

  


“I agree with Lord Mountbaton. My people are barely recovering from the past five years of taxes. Double them now and they will starve.” This came from the Earl of Cornwall. His son, Alexander, stood behind his chair. They were dressed finely, but Eleanor noted the wear and tear on both of their clothing. Alexander stared straight ahead attempting to keep his expression neutral, but Eleanor could see the anger in the tightening of his jaw.

  


Prince John waited as more and more of the small council members voiced their complaints. Eleanor feel unease stir in her gut as he continued to wait. Eventually, the voices of protest died one by one. When the room was smothered in anxious silence, Prince John stood. “I am uncertain as to what gave you the impression I was asking your permission.”

  


The other lords glanced awkwardly at each other, none of them daring to catch John’s eye. None except for the young lord Alexander, who’s shoulders stiffened when he stared at John. She saw the fire, so common in the young, flare in his eyes and knew that they would need that. 

  


Just not yet.

  


“My son,” she spoke up from the back of the room before the men could do something foolish. Her voice was soft, but no less commanding. “Perhaps we could all do with a respite.”

  


John sighed, but inclined his head. “Yes, mother. I suppose you might be right. You are all dismissed. And Edward?” He called. The accountant, a middle aged man in a scribe’s long cap, paused halfway up from his chair.

  


“Your Majesty?”

  


“The tax raise will be implemented.”

  


The accountant ducked his head quickly. The rest of those in the room froze for a moment, but the time to resist had passed and they filed out of the room in silence. Eleanor rose from her seat and smoothly intertwined her arm with John’s before he could escape.

  


“Hello Mother,” he said drily. “Shall I escort you back to your quarters?”

  


She patted his arm. “It seems this is the only way I am able to speak with you, my boy. These past few weeks I have found you to be more absent than usual.” 

  


“And what is it you wish to speak to me about?” He asked, amused.

  


“You have a duty to the people of this country, John. Not to the power this country holds on the world.” She took a breath. “Please don’t raise the taxes. Stop this fruitless journey into Sherwood. Be a king in act, if not in name.”

  


John sneered and she knew that she had misstepped. Eleanor felt a familiar sorrow, and wondered how long ago she had truly lost him. “A king like Richard?” John asked. “In case you have forgotten, mother, Richard fought a war for years on the other side of the world and had nothing to show for it. I will build something greater than he could ever imagine.”

  


“I did not approve of that crusade,” Eleanor said softly, but with feeling. “And this is not a competition.”

  


“It has always been a competition!” John snapped. His voice echoed down the hallway, and she found herself facing off against a man she didn’t recognize. There was no one else in the vicinity, except for the guards assigned to ensure the royal family’s safety. “This time, _I_ will win.”

  


“You are not the King,” Eleanor reminded him. “Your nephew is.” Her voice shook ever so slightly over the word ‘nephew.’ The still-raw grief at her son’s death twisted in her chest.

  


“A minor setback,” John said softly, so soft Eleanor wasn’t sure he intended to say it at all. But it set off alarm bells in her head.

  


“What do you mean?” She asked, her body flashing cold with dread.

  


John’s absent gaze re-focused on her and he smiled, but the smile was without warmth.

  


“It means, sometimes we have to take our God-given destiny out of His hands and into our own.” He signaled one of his body guards and the soldier detached from his side to come to Eleanor’s side. “I think you’ll be more comfortable in your quarters, mother. I shall see you for supper.”

  


John gave her a kiss on the cheek and left her there with one soldier dressed in royal livery. The soldier moved closer to her and held out his arm to show her the way. Eleanor simply looked at him, arching a brow in a look she had perfected over the years. “I am going to the chapel. You may accompany me to the door.”

  


“Your Majesty,” he bowed slightly. “The King Regent—“

  


“Is my son,” she snapped. “But I am still a queen. He does not give me orders within my own home.” She turned and swept down the hall without looking to see if the guard followed. Her gown made a gentle _shushing_ sound against the flagstones as she made her way to the castle’s chapel, acknowledging those she passed along the way with a brief nod of her head or a quick smile. The guard dutifully took up a position outside the chapel door as Eleanor entered, leaving her in peace.

  


When she entered the chapel, the familiar candlelight and hint of incense in the air eased a gnarled, nasty knot of tension in her chest that had taken up root the day Richard died. She trailed her fingers along the edges of the pews; dark wood benches worn smooth by centuries of use. Dust motes floated through beams of colored light that streamed through the stained glass portraits of saints built high into the ceiling. Candles flickered in clusters near the altar and along the walls. The air was heavy and old, but permeated with a sense of timeless peace. It was a safe haven where her grief could breathe; where it would be welcomed like a mother welcomes a crying child to her arms.

  


She slipped into a front pew and knelt on the cloth covered stool, arranging her skirts around her knees. After a few moments to settle her mind, she bowed her head and touched her forehead to her clasped hands. “Oh, Richard,” she whispered. She could feel a tear slide down her cheek. “I miss you.” 

  


And she let her tears fall.

  


She mourned for the man her son had been and the hole his absence left in her life. She mourned for the lost future of his country, for the people whose lives were forever off-course because he had been ripped away. And she mourned for the man her other son could have been.

  


When she had lost her husband all those years ago, her children and helped distract her from the pain of that loss. Richard was in line for the throne and so she had focused a lot of attention on him. But that meant John had been left to his own devices. Perhaps a young prince, alone after the loss of her father, could get a little lost. Somewhere during that time she had taken a wrong turn with John. Their paths diverged and one day she looked back, but they were too far away to ever return to each other. 

  


A gaggle of voices approached the chapel and then receded as a group of people passed by the chamber, unaware or uncaring of any worshippers inside. But the interruption brought Eleanor out of her grief, and she delicately wiped the tears from her face. She could not falter now; she must do what was necessary. She had a duty to protect her people and her country, no matter the cost to herself—or her son.

  


She reached into the shelf of her pew and pulled out a hymn book. Inside was a tangle of colored threads tied into very specific knots. Eleanor noted the knots and the color of threads, and then flipped through the hymn book to the appropriate pages. When she committed the coded message to memory, she unraveled the the threads and replaced them in the book.

  


  


After a brief prayer, Eleanor left the chapel with her head held high, and returned to her quarters without a word to the bodyguard. He stepped into position just behind her, escorting her as ordered but keeping a more respectful distance at this point. When she reached the door to her rooms, another pair of guards stationed there saluted and stood to attention. The guard her son had assigned to her bowed, then turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway to return to his other duties.

  


Her rooms were fairly extensive, befitting a Queen of England. She had use of a parlor at the very front of the suite to receive guests, as well as a sunroom with a multitude of windows where she could sew or paint or play the harpsichord when the mood suited her. And of course, her personal bedroom, fitting room, and privy tucked away in the back. The furniture was well-made and opulent, and decorated in pale blues and golds. When she entered her quarters a young woman dressed in her lady-in-waiting white and red striped dress came to greet her with a curtsey.

  


“How did the council go, my lady?”

  


“About as well as I expected, but thank you for asking, Sarah.” Eleanor went into her fitting room and sat at the vanity. Sarah began undoing Eleanor’s braid with practiced hands. “When you have finished here, my dear, could you please send for some tea and scones? And make sure the kitchen sends up enough for yourself as well.”

  


Sarah paused and met Eleanor’s eyes through the mirror. After a moment of silent communication, she nodded slowly. “Yes, my lady. Thank you for thinking of me.” When Sarah finished dressing the Queen for the evening, she left to order the requested tea and scones from the kitchen. Eleanor put on a dressing robe and settled in the parlor with a book as she waited for her expected guest to arrive.

  


***

  


Lord Alexander of Cornwall paced around the perimeter of his palace room, frowning at the cream-colored rug that covered the floor. His father was gone to consult with the palace quartermaster but the room was still crowded. Charles of Essex sprawled on the settee in the corner. He was a tall, lanky man and his limbs took up most of the space. His blonde curls were mussed and his shirt and tunic were crumpled from not having slept. Annalise, Countess of Gloucester sat properly in an armchair. Unlike Charles, her braided red hair had not a strand out of place and her plain, pale green dress looked freshly pressed. Her husband, Gerald, stood behind her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He bridged the gap in appearance between Charles and Anna, and there was a slight furrow in his brow. 

  


“Perhaps if we speak to the Prince in a smaller group,” Gerald mused. “Challenging him in front of all the lords of the council put his hackles up. But we own some of the richest lands in England. He needs to listen to us if he wants to keep the taxes going.”

  


Charles snorted. “Prince John is not about to change his tax policy now, not when he has the throne in his his grasp. He has ways to make us obey, it doesn’t matter how rich we are—or were,” he amended.

  


“We have to try,” Annalise said quietly. “Alex, your father was right today. The people cannot take much more of this. We had a reprieve when Richard returned, but it wasn’t enough.”

  


“What does he even need the taxes for?” Alex muttered, as much to himself as the others in the room. “The Holy War is over. And no one can possibly believe we need an army to march into Sherwood just to deal with Locksley.”

  


“He isn’t wrong about criminals being able to hide Sherwood,” Charles said. Alex gave him a look and Charles winced. “But yes, I know what you mean. King Richard named Robin as the witness in his final will; he trusted him with the life of his son for God’s sake. It doesn’t make sense that Locksley would turn around and betray that.”

  


“Even as an outlaw, he always worked for the people,” Annalise added. Gerald pursed his lips in disapproval, but nodded.

  


Alex finally stopped his pacing, but he didn’t look up, not yet. “He’s going to run this country into the ground just to satisfy his own ego. His _vanity_. Maybe Locksley had the right idea before.”

  


The silence that descended on the room was tense. He was beginning to tread on dangerous territory and the others were not quite sure if they wanted to follow. Alex finally looked up at his friends. Charles was sitting up straighter, his usual dismissive air gone. Anna and Gerald watched him carefully and Anna covered Gerald’s hand with hers. 

  


“Alex, What are you saying?” Charles asked.

  


“Do you all really think Prince John is going to just give up the throne?” Alex answered with a question of his own. 

  


“He must,” Gerald said, but Alex could see the doubt in his eyes.

  


Charles watched Alex with worry. “Don’t go where I think you’re going.” 

  


“Think about it, Charlie.” He couldn’t help the edge of urgency that crept into his voice. “He held power for years while Richard was away. Then Richard comes back, John isn’t in power anymore, and it just so happens that an illness sweeps through the castle—only the castle—and kills him? Putting John right back where he was to begin with?” 

  


Charles got to his feet and glared at Alexander. “Stop it. If anyone heard you talking like this, John will have you killed.” 

  


“You know I’m right.” Alex held Charles’ gaze, his voice soft. “We find out Richard’s son is alive, the rightful heir to the throne. Prince John is swept aside again and suddenly the taxes are raised and an army is sent into the lands of William’s protector. What are the chances Prince William even makes it London alive?” 

  


Charles shook his head, not so much in disagreement but in resignation. “What exactly are you proposing?” Gerald asked from behind them.

  


Alex turned back to the Count of Gloucester. “We sat back last time, let Locksley take the fall. We thought it would be fine, and we survived it. Mostly. But now we know now exactly what John’s reign would look like—and we know how far he is willing to go to get it.” 

  


“We don’t _know_ anything yet,” Anna cautioned. “Unless there is something you haven’t told us?”

  


Alex shook his head. “Only what the rest of you know.” He frowned as Annalise blinked and took a beat too long to confirm that, yes, they all had the same information. 

  


Gerald ran his fingers through shoulder-length brown hair and then moved to gaze out the window, his back to the room. “Are you suggesting treason?” His voice was icy, and Alex was reminded that Gerald was one of the more powerful lords in the country, not just a friend.

  


“I suppose it depends on how you define treason,” Charles drawled as he crossed the room and poured himself a glass of brandy.

  


“This isn’t a joke, Charles,” Gerald snapped. He turned around and his dark eyes flashed. “And this isn’t something you can gamble on for the fun of it, Alexander. Voicing complaints is one thing. But you’ve strayed into something else entirely.”

  


Alex held his ground, understanding his friend’s anger. “I just want to make sure that Prince William, the rightful heir to the throne, is crowned. I want to make sure the people under our care survive. If Prince John threatens those things, we need to stop him.”

  


Annalise rose from her chair and placed a hand on Gerlad’s arm. “It has been a long day for all of us. I propose that we get some sleep and discuss further in the morning. Why don’t you two join us for breakfast? We will have clearer heads with food and rest.”

  


“I will never turn down an invitation to a meal, so long as we begin at a reasonable hour,” Charles piped up, taking another sip.

  


She smiled. “Of course. I would not dream of having you wake before nine bells. We will see you tomorrow then.” Gerald sighed and nodded, his momentary anger dissipated and he and Anna excused themselves.

  


Alex collapsed into the now vacant arm chair, watching Charles toss back the last of his brandy. A hundred thoughts whirled through his head, like leaves caught up in a whirlwind. The impending threat of John’s encroaching rule clouded his mind and sat like a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. Their people were close to starvation. His family was scraping together what they could to keep everyone afloat, but their raft was quickly sinking. His family wasn’t the only one, but everyone had learned long ago the consequences of speaking out against Prince John. And not everyone could be Robin Hood.

  


“What are you doing, Alex?”

  


Alex looked up to see Charles watching him carefully, another glass of brandy in his hand. “What do you mean?” Alex asked.

  


“John’s taxes are nothing new. Since when did you become some sort of freedom fighter?”

  


“Didn’t you see the look on John’s face when King Richard’s will was read?” Alex whispered. “He was _furious_.”

  


“I saw it.” Charlie came over to his arm chair and leaned against it, looking down at Alex. “But it doesn’t matter if I think John killed his brother. It’s not our business. We pay the crown, the crown mostly leaves us alone. You used to agree with that.”

  


“Richard was a good king.” He started down at the floor between his feet and felt Charlie squeeze his shoulder. “We didn’t need to worry about it. When Prince John ruled in his absence, I didn’t like all of his decisions. But he was the law and we were holding our own. When Richard returned I was relieved. Now..I’ve never felt more scared. If John is willing to kill his brother, his king, to keep on to power he will carve through all of us if needed.”

  


“I don’t like the idea of John as king either,” Charles said when Alex paused. “But what do you think we can do?”

  


“I don’t know yet.” He took the glass from Charles’ hand and tossed it back, with only mild protest from Charles. “I just know that if William makes it to London, we need to make sure he has a throne to sit on. And he stays alive long enough to claim it.”


End file.
